What is my soul?

Is my soul the way I laugh?
I laugh from the deepest part of me,
joyfully celebrating my life.
Is my soul the way I cry?
I cry from the deepest part of me,
embracing the pain my life delivers me.
Is my soul the way I listen?
I listen from the deepest part of me,
learning everything life has to teach me.
Is my soul the way I speak?
I speak from the deepest part of me,
telling life exactly what I think of it.
Is my soul the way I hate?
I hate from the deepest part of me,
turning away all those who've hurt me?
Is my soul the way I love?
I love from the deepest part of me,
Eternally bound to those people I care about.
Is my soul solely my own?
Is it possible to speak, to cry, to love alone?
Is my soul a piece of God in me?
Is my soul only mine because I have faith?

Is my soul?

His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.

Our love all at sea
where the waves come crashing.
We're not in the same boat
we're two ships passing.

Once in every man's life,
He should be brought to his knees by a beautiful woman.
She should level him. She should hypnotize him, and warp him with her wit beyond recognition. She should give him hope, and then break him.
She should enchant him with her charm. And then curse him with reality.
Her departure should rock him to his core. It should shock him. It should send him reeling for weeks and months after the fact. It should bring up insecurity he had no idea was there.

It should be a mandatory part of becoming a man. A rite of passage that shows him he has no rights to have. If he is broken, he will not break by his own volition. If she is cold, to another he will be warm. He will have no pride or defenses left. He will protect, he will pursue, and he will come to her rescue because he will know.

He will understand his own pain and never wish it upon another. Every man must be destroyed.